


Patria

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 17:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I like it,” Enjolras tells him simply, and steps closer. “I really, <i>really</i> like it, because I like you a lot, and I like Patria a lot, and seeing my two favourite things together makes me very happy.” </p><p>(Or, the one where Grantaire steals Enjolras' t-shirt.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patria

**Author's Note:**

> From [this text post](http://nexttoaarontveit.tumblr.com/post/82464035151/grantaire-occasionally-wearing-a-shirt-with-the) on tumblr.

The living room in their apartment is generally a mess of books and art supplies littered all over the place, with misplaced items all around the living room. Enjolras has lost pens and ties and cufflinks in the living room, but that’s not a problem with Grantaire around. Grantaire calls the mess an _organised mess_ , and Enjolras would argue that except Grantaire can prove it by being able to reach under the couch to pull out the highlighter Enjolras has been searching for without even trying. 

It’s a system that works, and Enjolras is okay with it since it means that he doesn’t have to clean, but this is the first time he’s lost a t-shirt to the living room, and _how_. He was on laundry duty, and he’s pretty sure he saw the t-shirt in the dryer just yesterday night. Grantaire was the one who did the folding last night, and he likes to do it in the living room, so there’s a good chance that the living room has swallowed his shirt.

Grantaire would know. Grantaire would be able to find it. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras calls out, raising his voice because Grantaire is in the bedroom shower, a distance away from the living room, “have you seen my—”

He freezes when Grantaire comes out to the living room, hair still damp, wearing Enjolras’ favourite t-shirt, the one he’s been looking for, the black v-neck with the word PATRIA printed onto it in bright red. 

“Oh,” he manages to get out faintly, and Grantaire’s grin grows.

He loves it when Grantaire wears his clothes, and Grantaire loves wearing his clothes, so it works out just fine for them, but there is something about Grantaire in this t-shirt that makes his heart swell three times its size. 

“Grantaire,” he starts, and then doesn’t know how to continue. He’s got, well, _feelings_ , but he doesn’t know what they are, and why they’re there, but they are good feelings, feelings that make him tingly everywhere, and God, he can’t look away from Grantaire, and Grantaire is being so distracting, standing there, looking gorgeous and wearing his favourite t-shirt and—

Grantaire cocks his head slightly. “I normally don’t get such a reaction out of you when I wear your clothes,” he says. “Is the Patria shirt off limits? You shouldn’t have left it out in the open, then. It’s fair game if you put it somewhere I can see.” His fingers go to the hem of the t-shirt and lifts it slightly. “Are you going to wear it now? I can take it off—”

“Don’t,” Enjolras blurts out. And then calmer, “Don’t, please.”

Grantaire is starting to look a little concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright, Enjolras?”

Enjolras nods. “Just,” he says, and lets out of frustrated sigh, because his feelings aren’t untangling themselves out like they normally do after some time. “Just give me a minute. I’m on the verge of a revelation.”

Grantaire stares at him, bemused. 

Enjolras stares right back, and manually tries to sort out his feelings. It doesn’t really work well, because Grantaire is still there, still looking at him like he’s sure Enjolras is running a fever. To be very fair to Grantaire, Enjolras’ face does feel a little warm to himself, and he doesn’t need to look in the mirror to know that he’s probably going red all over, and the fact that he’s shirtless isn’t going to help conceal it at all, but he doesn’t know why seeing his two favourite things in the world together would cause such a reaction—

Oh. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Enjolras breathes out, because that’s it. 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire prompts. “That’s your I’ve-Figured-A—Thing-Out face. Do you want to tell me what this thing is?” 

“It’s you,” Enjolras says, and smiles when Grantaire’s look of confusion doesn’t ebb away. He’s not the only one who needs time to figure things out sometimes. “It’s you in that t-shirt.”

When Enjolras doesn’t elaborate, Grantaire gives him a look. “What about me in that t-shirt?”

“I like it,” Enjolras tells him simply, and steps closer. “I really, _really_ like it, because I like you a lot, and I like Patria a lot, and seeing my two favourite things together makes me very happy.” He pauses for a moment and considers another issue. “I can’t tell if I like you better with that t-shirt on, or with it off,” he confesses. “It’s very confusing. I think I need another minute.”

Grantaire laughs at that. “Are you trying to tell me that can’t decide if you like me as much as you do Patria?”

“Quiet,” Enjolras says, pressing his finger to Grantaire’s lips. “I’m thinking.”

“Think faster,” Grantaire mumbles against his finger, smiling.

“It’s not easy,” Enjolras tells him, almost chidingly, removing his finger from Grantaire’s lips, because Grantaire’s lips are just as distracting as the issue at hand. 

“Can’t decide if I measure up to Patria?” Grantaire asks wryly. 

Enjolras shakes his head. “Can’t decide which one I like more,” he tells Grantaire honestly.

“I’m fine coming in second to Patria,” Grantaire tells him, laughing, and Enjolras’ heartbeat picks up. He loves the way Grantaire laughs, loves the sound of it, loves that he can make Grantaire laugh. “I won’t get offended if you like Patria more. Does that make it easier for you to decide?”

Enjolras’ lips curve into a smile. “Yes,” he says, and then reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it off Grantaire easily. “I don’t just _like_ Patria, I _love_ Patria,” he tells Grantaire, and tosses the shirt in the general direction of the couch, and wraps his arms around Grantaire’s waist. The t-shirt probably doesn’t land on the couch, but Enjolras really doesn’t care. “But you more, you _most_.”

Grantaire gapes at him and doesn’t say anything. 

“I love you,” Enjolras says, because he needs to say it, Grantaire needs to hear the words, not infer it from anything else. The words feel right on his tongue. “I love you more than Patria.” 

Grantaire stares at him for a long moment before he finally croaks, “You can’t say that, Apollo.” He huffs out a shaky laugh. “How would Patria feel?”

Enjolras crooks a smile. “Patria will understand,” he tells Grantaire, and presses a kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s lips, grinning when he feels Grantaire smile in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com) on tumblr, come say hi! :D


End file.
